Stumbling back to bed after a pee
I’m startled by the stalker moon, peeping
Thomasina through the spare room window.
Intruder, interruptrix: she’s looking a bit
rough around the edges, her complexion
in need of dermabrasion or at least a gentle scrub.
Tonight she shows her age: well, that makes two of us,
as I fumble across the landing, hair snarled, breath soured
in my faded pyjamas. Old moon, you may control the tides
and they have turned. Seductress to slattern
is a slippery slope, as maiden moves to matron moves to mess.
Moon, harsh lantern, you arrest me in the paparazzi’s flash,
mirrored, captured in my cratered flesh.
Published online January 01 2013.
Alison Calder’s poetry collection Wolf Tree was a finalist for both the Gerald Lampert and the Pat Lowther Awards. She teaches Canadian Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Manitoba.